Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 8)

by Shannon Messenger

  And speaking of memories…

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” Sophie asked, pulling back to meet her sister’s eyes—the first time they’d really faced each other since she’d gotten there. “Whatever happened between us that day, it… seems like it was pretty bad.”

  Amy chewed her lip and went back to staring at the wind chimes. “Bad like… what happened to Mom and Dad?”

  “No,” Mr. Forkle assured her. “What happened was an accident. Nothing more.”

  Amy nodded, shifting her focus back to Sophie. “Then I want to know. I want to know everything. The good and the bad. You’re my sister, and… that’s how it works with family.”

  She emphasized the last word, and it nearly undid Sophie.

  A few tears leaked from her eyes, but she blinked hard to fight back the rest.

  “You’re really doing okay?” she whispered, tucking Amy’s hair behind her ears. “It’s not too hard, hiding everything you’re hiding?”

  Amy shrugged. “I mean… sometimes I wish I had some mallowmelt, but…”

  “I’ll bring you some,” Sophie promised, not caring how many rules she’d have to break to make that happen.

  “What about you?” Amy asked, studying Sophie like she was checking her for injuries. And somehow, even though Sophie’s right hand showed no new scars, Amy’s focus lingered there.

  “Oh, you know how it goes,” Sophie told her, forcing a smile. “Lots of near-death experiences. But nothing I can’t handle.”

  Amy didn’t look convinced. But she changed the subject. “How about the cute boys? Still trying to decide which one makes your heart flutter the hardest? I haven’t changed my vote, by the way, in case you were wondering.”

  Mr. Forkle cleared his throat. “I realize you two have lots to catch up on. But now really isn’t the time. I’m assuming your parents will be home soon.”

  Amy sighed. “I mean, I convinced them to go to the boring farmers market they always spend hours and hours at, since apparently looking at stalls of avocados and tomatoes and fresh-churned butter is super exciting when you get old. But I don’t really know when they’ll be back.”

  “Then we should get started,” Mr. Forkle said gently, turning to Flori and asking her and Nubiti to keep watch for the parents’ return.

  Amy and Sophie shared a long look—and Amy seemed every bit as nervous as Sophie felt. But her determination was clear.

  “We’re doing this?” she asked Sophie.

  Sophie fought the urge to tug on her eyelashes. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

  Amy nodded, taking Sophie’s hand.

  And they clung to each other as Amy opened the front door wider and they stepped aside to let Mr. Forkle take the lead.

  SIXTEEN

  I SHOULD WARN YOU THAT THIS process will be painful,” Mr. Forkle said, his wheezy voice slicing through the silence of Amy’s dim bedroom.

  Sophie jolted off the bed, where she’d been lying beside her sister, attempting to relax. “Why? It didn’t hurt when you gave my other memory back.”

  “Yes, but that moment didn’t involve this level of pain,” Mr. Forkle reminded her. “And I can’t separate the visuals from the sensations that go with them. It all comes back together—though you’ll only experience a shadow of what you endured the first time, since our brains have a way of filtering trauma to help us move past it. And the pain will fade once the memory settles into the correct place in your mental timeline and no longer feels present. But you both need to prepare yourselves for some intense discomfort. Especially you, Amy.”

  “Oh good,” Amy mumbled. “You know, you left that part out when you explained this to me.”

  “Same,” Sophie said, narrowing her eyes at Mr. Forkle.

  Sandor added a goblin death glare from the doorway.

  Mr. Forkle raised his hands, giving them all the universal What? gesture. “Does it change anything?”

  Sophie and Sandor said “yes” at the same time that Amy said “no.”

  “Seriously?” Sophie asked her.

  Amy looked just as stunned by Sophie’s answer. “You really don’t want your memory back anymore?”

  “I didn’t mean it changed anything for me,” Sophie clarified, earning a snort of protest from Sandor. “I still need to know what happened. But you don’t—and if it’s going to cause intense pain, why would you put yourself through that?”

  Amy sat up to face her, probably trying to look strong and confident as she told Sophie, “We’ve been over this already.”

  But the way she’d bent her legs crisscross-applesauce style made her look very, very young.

  “Please, Amy,” Sophie whispered. “Don’t be so stubborn. Just let me go and—”

  “No!” Amy caught Sophie’s wrist before Sophie could grab her home crystal, throw open the curtains they’d drawn to make the room feel more private, and leap far, far away. “I can handle a few minutes of pain, Sophie.”

  “How do you know?” Sophie countered.

  Amy shrugged. “I got through it the first time, didn’t I?”

  “Not necessarily,” Sandor argued. “The Black Swan took this memory away for a reason.”

  “The pain had nothing to do with that,” Mr. Forkle insisted. “Sparing you both the trauma was a bonus—not the necessity.”

  “And what was the ‘necessity’?” Sandor demanded.

  “That will be obvious once I return the memory,” Mr. Forkle told him, earning himself another vicious goblin glare.

  “See?” Amy said to Sophie, as if they’d somehow solved everything.

  Sophie shook her head, trying—and failing—to pull her wrist free from Amy’s death grip. “I don’t understand why you want to remember me hurting you.”

  “Because that part doesn’t matter. It was an accident,” Amy reminded her.

  “Not completely.” Fresh tears stung Sophie’s eyes as she scraped together the words for her confession. “I’ve had one flashback from that moment, and… it was of you begging me to stop whatever I was doing. I’m assuming that means I had some control over what was happening.”

  “Wrong,” Mr. Forkle told her. “It was… an unanticipated chain reaction.”

  “Yeah, well, that chain reaction had me make a six-year-old scream in pain,” Sophie snapped back, twisting her arm a different way and wondering if her sister had figured out how to channel strength when she lived with the elves because seriously—how was she so strong? “Everyone realizes that, right? Amy was just a kid.”

  “So were you,” Mr. Forkle noted. “You were a terrified nine-year-old with no idea what was going on or how to stop it. In fact, you couldn’t stop it. So there was no fault in the situation. Just unfortunate happenstance that I wish I’d anticipated. Truthfully, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me for not being prepared or noticing what was going on until it was too late. So please stop taking that responsibility upon yourself, Miss Foster. You know the dangers that come with guilt.”

  Sophie winced as her mind flashed to an image of Alden’s pale, lifeless face after his mind had shattered from his regrets over Prentice.

  “You have nothing to feel guilty for,” Mr. Forkle assured her. “And I need you to start believing that, otherwise we can’t proceed any further—and you’re going to need the information in this memory for the decision you have ahead.”

  “What decision?” Amy asked.

  “One I can’t explain yet,” Mr. Forkle told her. “Not until your sister’s in a proper position to make it.”

  “It’s a new power, though, right?” Sophie guessed, surprised at how calmly she could ask the question.

  But it was the only explanation that made any sense.

  In fact…

  “I’m assuming I manifested another freakish ability that day and used the power to hurt Amy,” she admitted as the pieces of a nauseating theory snapped together. “So you and Livvy decided to reset my brain with limbium, and then discovered I was allergic to it and had to rush me to
the hospital so the human doctors could save me. And then you took the memory away so I wouldn’t know what I was capable of and so Amy wouldn’t figure out that I wasn’t human. And now you’re going to make me relive it all so you can ask me to let you almost kill me again to turn that creepy ability back on.”

  Stunned silence followed the outburst. And Sophie tried to use that shock to finally pull her wrist free from her sister’s death grip—but Amy held strong as she turned to Mr. Forkle and asked, “Is that what happened?”

  “It’s… on the right track,” he admitted, causing Sophie’s queasiness to level up. “But it’s still wrong in several significant ways. So I urge you to keep an open mind, Miss Foster. I can tell that you think you already know what your decision will be once the choice is presented—but I assure you, it’s not as simple as you’re imagining—”

  “Uh, it is if you’re going to do something that could kill her,” Amy interrupted, shaking Sophie’s arm until Sophie looked at her. “You’re not going to agree to that, are you?”

  “She better not,” Sandor growled.

  “And this is why I’m giving your memories back,” Mr. Forkle told them, “to avoid these kinds of hasty conclusions. For the record, no one will be asking anyone to put their life in serious danger, so can we please focus on what we’re here for?”

  Sophie studied his face, searching for some clue to what was coming, but the ruckleberries made him impossible to read.

  “Fine,” she said quietly. “But I still don’t agree with you dragging Amy into this. Haven’t we put her through enough?”

  “You haven’t put me through anything,” Amy argued. “I mean it, Sophie. I’m never going to blame you for what happened.”

  “Even if that’s true,” Sophie mumbled, torn between wanting to believe her and knowing how impossible it would be for Amy to keep that promise, “I’m sure this will end up being your most vivid memory of me—and I hate that, since it’s not like you have a lot of good ones to make up for it.”

  “Uh, are you kidding?” Amy asked. “I have tons of good memories! Why do you think I fought so hard to keep them? And I don’t just mean the stuff in the Lost Cities—though the whole flying-with-an-alicorn thing is pretty hard to top. But there’s also this.” She pulled back the quilt on her bed, uncovering something white and fluffy.

  “Is that Bun-Bun?” Sophie asked, feeling a tug in her chest when Amy held up the well-loved stuffed bunny.

  Bun-Bun had been Amy’s version of Ella ever since Amy was four years old, and Sophie couldn’t believe her sister had been allowed to keep him through all the moves and identity changes. His shaggy fur wasn’t as white as it used to be, and he looked matted in a few places—but that made him more perfect, since it proved he was the real, original stuffed animal.

  “Do you know why Bun-Bun’s my favorite?” Amy asked quietly, making his ears flop from side to side.

  Sophie shrugged. “I figured you liked how soft he was.”

  “Well, I do. But the real reason is because of you.” She held Bun-Bun closer to Sophie’s face and squeezed his neck to tilt his head a little, pitching her voice higher and squeakier as she said, “Hey there, Miss Sophie. Who wants to play?”

  And just like that, Sophie was seven years old again, making Bun-Bun talk to Amy the exact same way.

  Amy cleared her throat, pulling Bun-Bun back and staring into his shiny black eyes. “I didn’t say it enough, but… you were a good sister. Still are, even if we don’t get to see each other. I always know you’re out there, taking risks I wish you wouldn’t take. Being Miss Superhero Elf.”

  “Ha, I’m so not a superhero,” Sophie corrected, focusing on the joke so she wouldn’t get all teary again.

  “Please—you even wear a cape!” Amy teased back. Her smile faded just as fast, though. “Promise me you’ll be careful, okay? Especially with whatever choice he’s going to have you make.”

  Sophie choked down a lump in her throat. “Only if you promise that if your missing memory turns out to be more traumatic than you were expecting, you’ll ask Mr. Forkle to erase it again.”

  “I’m not going to need that,” Amy argued.

  “Promise me anyway,” Sophie pressed.

  Amy rolled her eyes. “Fiiiiiiiiiiine. I promise. Ugh. So bossy.”

  They shared a smile—but it felt both happy and sad. And Amy broke eye contact first, shifting back to studying Bun-Bun.

  “Remember the song you made up for him?” she asked. “And the little hoppy dance?”

  “Please demonstrate both,” Sandor jumped in. “Along with anything else that would make good blackmail.”

  “Another day,” Mr. Forkle said, peeking through the curtains of the nearest window, probably checking for signs of Sophie’s human parents. “We can’t afford to waste any more time. Are you two finally ready?”

  “I am,” Amy said immediately.

  Sophie chewed her lip, taking another look around Amy’s bedroom.

  Nothing made the gap between their lives feel wider.

  The room wasn’t small—but it was nothing like Sophie’s enormous suite at Havenfield. And it wasn’t plain, but the painted blue walls and scuffed wood floors definitely weren’t the same as a glass ceiling strung with dangling crystal stars, or flowers woven into the carpet, or windows with sweeping ocean views. The twin bed looked like a shoebox compared to Sophie’s sprawling canopied bed, and the closet could probably only fit about one tenth of Sophie’s clothes and shoes.

  And yet, Amy’s room had all the tiny personal touches that Sophie was still struggling to add to hers.

  The saddest part was, Sophie didn’t recognize any of those additions.

  Aside from Bun-Bun, all the stuffed animals and knickknacks were new. And the smiling friends in the photographs were all strangers. Sophie had also never heard of the boy band that Amy had lots of pictures and posters of on her door—though their hairstyles reminded her a little of Tam’s.

  And something about that distance between them made her whisper, “Please don’t hate me for whatever happened that day, okay?”

  Amy pulled her closer, offering her Bun-Bun to hug. “You don’t have to worry about that, Sophie. I loved you even when I didn’t remember who you were. I’d get this weird ache sometimes, right here.” She pressed her fist against her chest. “I didn’t know how to explain it, but it felt like… something was missing. And then you showed up and my memories triggered and it was like, ‘Ohhhhhh, this is what I was looking for.’ That’s why I don’t want any more gaps in my past. I just want to know my life is complete again, if that makes sense.”

  “It does,” Mr. Forkle assured her, his voice a bit thick. “And it’s a very mature reason for doing this.”

  Sophie knew why he was emphasizing the word—and hated him for having a point.

  Amy wasn’t the bratty little nine-year-old that Sophie had left behind when she moved to the Lost Cities. Nor was she the terrified six-year-old begging Sophie to stop whatever she was doing.

  She was a girl who’d watched her parents get abducted and managed to stay clearheaded enough to keep herself hidden from the Neverseen.

  A girl who’d learned that everything she’d been told about her life—and the world—wasn’t real, and then had to spend months hiding with strangers in a secret underwater city while she worried every day about the people she loved.

  And now she was a girl who’d chosen to lie to everyone in order to keep the secrets she’d learned about her past and the Lost Cities.

  If memories meant that much to her, she probably could handle this.

  So Sophie took Bun-Bun and slowly lay down next to Amy on the narrow twin bed.

  Amy lay back beside her, and Sophie wedged Bun-Bun between them.

  “Are you ready?” Mr. Forkle asked, striding closer.

  The sisters reached for each other, tangling their fingers together as they nodded.

  Mr. Forkle clapped his hands. “Excellent. Then let’s begin. Keep
in mind that the memory will take a moment to register in your consciousness after I return it. And once it does, it will feel detached—as if you’re watching something happening to someone else. Try not to think too much during that initial confusion, as it will only slow your mind from making its own connections—and once those connections form, the sensations will take over. I’d recommend locking your jaw so you don’t bite your tongues when the pain hits. That part should pass within a few minutes. If it doesn’t, I have sedatives—”

  “No sedatives,” Sophie interrupted.

  “Yes, Miss Foster, I figured you’d say that. But I still wanted both of you to know that the option is available. And Flori is right outside if you feel the echoes stirring.”

  “Echoes?” Amy asked.

  “Loooooooooooong story,” Sophie told her.

  “And now is not the time,” Mr. Forkle noted. “Right now, I need you each to focus on taking slow, deep breaths, dragging each one out longer than the last.”

  Their breathing quickly fell in sync, and there was something so soothing about the steady rhythm of matched inhales and exhales.

  “It’s also important to note that some of your memories will feel very abstract,” Mr. Forkle added quietly, “given the mental state you were in when they happened. And you’ll still have gaps that you’ll need me to fill in, since quite a lot occurred after I rendered you both unconscious. And while I’ll do my best to answer your questions, please bear in mind that there are certain things I won’t be able to explain—not because I’m holding anything back, but because there are parts that even I don’t fully understand. In fact, I’m hoping the two of you might be able to provide some additional insights. We’ll see soon enough. For now, keep breathing. Sloooooooow and steeeeeeaaaaady.”

  They’d each taken ten more breaths when he urged them to close their eyes and hold the next one. And when Sophie did as he asked, she felt his shaky fingers press against her temple.

  “Here we go,” he whispered. “Three… two… one.”